The Last Stronghold: The Journal of Ivan Naumov
by Goboy007
Summary: A writer living in Moscow recounts the history and daily lives of his people and nation in the final years of the Russian civilization.
1. Introduction

**~ Introduction ~**

 **1700AD**

If you are reading this journal, there's a good chance you live in a _vastly_ different world than the one I live in now. You may also find it strange that the writer of this journal is talking directly to you, even though we have never met and at the time of you reading this I am, more likely than not, a specter long since removed from this world. While us Russians certainly believe in the afterlife, I don't plan on haunting this body of work anytime soon; I believe the haunting of words is infinitely more powerful than that of a traditionally-minded man.

Not knowing the circumstances that has led you to peruse this journal, I shall write a bit about myself and set the stage for the coming pages. My name is Ivan Naumov and I am a fiction writer, though I certainly wouldn't classify myself as "great" as the other Great Russian Writers you've probably heard of. I reside in the city of Moscow, currently the de facto capital of the Russian nation. I should also mention that it is the _only_ city in the nation after the Laurasian War all but destroyed our country. It's a pretty small and spacious city; there's only about 21,000 people here (nowhere near the current number of people in Roman-controlled St. Petersburg), yet we take up a good chunk of the southern peninsula of the Laurasian continent. We Russians have always been known to have lots of land.

While I am in the generation that was born in Moscow amidst the height of the Laurasian War, I still have a great love and pride for my country. Most of my peers whom I grew up with went the way of assimilation, abandoning the Russian way and emulating other cultures, predominantly Roman culture. I do not blame them for this; with what our parents and grandparents went through and our current national situation, it's only natural that people would gravitate towards the winning side. But no matter how much the people compel me to give up this culture, or how much my peers shun me for not conforming to reality, I still want to be Russian. I cannot bring myself to adopt the language, mindset and practices of my conqueror.

You may be wondering why I am starting a new journal now when I could be writing another novel to make much-needed money. While I am still writing stories for a living, these days I feel more compelled to write down what I see in front on me day in and day out. With the recent events that have taken place having major implications for the future of the Russian culture, I fear that our civilization may not last much longer. I believe it is my duty to record the triumphs and trials of the remaining Russian Republic for as long as I can. While Moscow still stands and I still breathe, I want to make sure the story of the Russian people is preserved in some way that, if the worst happens, generations after us will at least know that there was a "Russia."

Part of me wishes that one day, some roaming scholar finds these pages and deems them worthy enough to bring back to his homeland to show his fellow people. The history books I've read often were of men who took the time to scavenge and pursue any material they could on a certain culture or time and brought it back to present to the masses. However, if you are not one of those people or have no intention on sharing this with anyone, then I still have solace that at least someone is actually learning something about my world.

In this journal, I will do my best to convey the social, political and cultural atmosphere of my city as I experience them. I will give reflections on how we arrived at this situation, containing some history about the events leading up to now. Forgive me if I dwell too much on the historical side; I am known as an avid student of history and tend to go on long diatribes about the past. I will do my best to balance the past and present so you, the reader, may receive more than just a history lesson.

My aim is to hopefully capture the mindset and spirit of the Russian people in this, the 18th century. If this is to be my last piece of writing, I hope that this brings knowledge and understanding to a world that has seen so much bloodshed in its time. Among these pages, I present to you life in Moscow, the last stronghold of Russia.

Blessings unto you all.


	2. Chapter 1

**1705AD**

This morning I went to the food stalls about two blocks from my residence. Even as it holds the remains of the Russian civilization, Moscow is a small city, so it's easy to walk wherever you need to go. Horses are nearly non-existent here, so there is nearly no choice but to walk, unless you want to pay for a human-drawn carriage ride.

Luckily walking good distances comes natural to me. In fact, many in Moscow are excellent walkers. Being driven from their homeland and forced to cross a vast sea to the other end of Laurasia just to survive taught our ancestors about fitness. They instilled in us a sense of being and looking strong, both as a health choice as well as to let enemies know we were not afraid of them.

The day at the food stalls was not necessarily eventful; there were no more brawls of men looking to prove their toughness than there usually is, nor were there any more food vendors constantly shouting about how good their wares were. I made my rounds to pick up what I usually bought. Fruits and vegetables grown locally in the backyards of houses were on full display, polished and conditioned to the best of the vendors' abilities. Pork slabs hung from the walls of meat stalls, while grilled fish and bacon were showcased on wooden crates, propped up by small wooden stands to make meat lovers stop and stare. Desserts were in a specific area of the stall complex, with children dragging their parents to peruse the colorful confections.

The highlight food of this stall complex however (and nearly every Muscovite diet) has to be bread. Since wheat is the most abundant resource we have, bars serving vodka and bakeries are numerous. Any dish that can be made from or with wheat you can find either in the stalls or the homes of Moscow.

I bought my usual fruits and vegetables and made my way to my favorite bakery here, The Grateful Bread. This small bakery, family-owned and run for three generations, makes a quality of bread and pastries that any Russian, Roman, Spaniard, or Englishman would travel any distance for. It also so happens that the family who runs this shop has been friends with my family for years. The patriarch of the family, who also served as the owner of the bakery, is a big fellow named Kuzma Popov who always greets customers with a special Russian greeting.

"Blessings, comrade!" He exclaims as I walk through the door to the shop. It's not a big bakery; there's a decent amount of room for the three dining tables, each housing four wooden chairs for people who wish to eat their confections onsite or shoot the breeze about current happenings. It's not very busy this morning; just an old couple at one of the tables eating soft bread.

I greet him as his daughter, Kira, exits the back room and moves to take another box of wheat. Her long black ponytail gently sways as she moves through the room, and I'm not ashamed to say it hypnotized me for a quick second. She smiles and greets me with a "Hello Ivan" and a look that doubles my heart rate. I stop myself before I greet her back; spontaneously belting out your desire for someone in front of their father could ruin the chances of said desire coming true.

"Tons of wheat today, I see." I say, trying to be a normal human being and strike a conversation.

"Yeah, wheat harvest is going great this year. But if it wasn't for your regular visits, we wouldn't be able to afford all of it." I avert my eyes a bit as she gives me a big grin, slightly teasing me and unaware that it almost makes me go crazy.

"Wheat is the lifeblood of Russia!" Mr. Popov exclaims to me. "All of the vendors down this street agree; we may not have vast amounts of gold like those Romans but as long as our wheat holds up we can handle anything that comes our way!"

"Now if only he could handle his gut." Kira says under her breath so only I can hear her. She smirks as she picks up another box of wheat and moves to the back. As I watch her walk away, a smile comes across my face. I've known her ever since we were kids and whenever I'm around her I feel a great happiness rush over me. I just haven't had the courage to ask for her; I see the chances of her accepting my feelings and having them requited as very low.

Of course, my non-existent love life is of little importance; there are far more pressing matters in our world. But one thing that is important is Mr. Popov's assessment of wheat. Wheat is a very important part of our lives in Moscow. It's the resource that feeds the people and gives us the strength to be productive, no matter how little we actually produce compared to other nations. Some have called it the grain that will spark the new Russian Empire, believing that the wheat yields will lead us to build a military that could help spread our culture throughout Laurasia. A select few have been bold enough to consider one day re-taking our homeland.

I don't necessarily subscribe to that idea; it will take more than wheat to match the Roman Empire and their many city-state allies. But every time I hear the argument, a part of me swells with pride that my people still have some hope for prosperity.

* * *

Laurasia is one of the great continents of the world. I cannot tell you much about the other continents (I have working knowledge of another, and there are at least 2 more out there according to Roman history books), but with all of the different people and cultures residing here, Laurasia feels like its own world. Some characterize the continent as having the shape of a giant snake beginning to curl into a ball; the continent has two large landmasses to the east and west (commonly referred to in political circles as East Laurasia and West Laurasia), connected by a land bridge filled with mountains that separate them. A small island to the northwest is also considered apart of West Laurasia, and this is important as that island brings in an entire civilization which plays a central part in the current situation of our Russian Republic.

There are three main civilizations on Laurasia, all having their cultural capitals in West Laurasia. There's obviously us, the Russian Republic, though Moscow, sitting in East Laurasia, is far from our ancestral home. Our people started in the city of St. Petersburg, a city that is so magnificent, so crucial to Laurasia, it is legendary to our people. Every time I hear a story or find a new book about St. Petersburg, euphoria rushes through me. The promise of learning something new about that grand city is almost too much for me to handle. I'm researching every thing I can on the city so I can write a book that will do the city justice, but in order to save you from my long-winded enthusiasm, just know that St. Petersburg was the center of Russian life for most of our history.

The second civilization is the Spanish Empire. The Spanish, from what I gathered from historical records brought over to Moscow, started on that small island I mentioned earlier, completely cut off from the rest of the world. They gained knowledge of sailing early, and took to the seas to expand their land. Their navy was impressive but wasn't enough to defeat us in the Russo-Spanish War in what historians call the "classical era."

The third and, grudgingly I say, most powerful player on Laurasia is the Roman Empire. Starting in the northern part of West Laurasia, the Romans were early trade partners with the Russians. There are documents recording Roman-Russian transactions and trade of copper, cattle, wheat and even truffles. Even though the Romans populated the land quickly, the Russian Republic never had any malice towards the Romans. Our ancestors saw them as a strong people who were worthy of respect and friendship.

There are other cities on the continent: Jerusalem and Hong Kong all reside in East Laurasia. The Roman Empire were heavily involved in their affairs, becoming quick allies and forming lasting relationships that to this day are one of the defining influences of East Laurasia. I'm not sure if, at the time, the officials in the Russian Republic saw Rome's rise as a threat or nothing more than daily happenings. Whatever the feeling was, they were soon to learn that treating the Romans solely as friends would be a terrible mistake.

Blessings unto you all.


End file.
